This line came from my sister. We were discussing her, ahem, people-pleasing tactics when I cautioned her about further poking of the bear, as it were, and she came up with this gem! She was getting a bit heated in the argument, and at this point, I began laughing uncontrollably. She sometimes struggles with interpersonal interactions, given that she tends to be the quiet, morose, irritated (but holding it in because she wants you to think she doesn’t care) member of this family. Whereas you might be a bit afraid of me, because I tend to let it all out with no filter, most times at an inappropriate moment. Loudly. Think megaphone mouth. Yeah, you’ve got the visual now, I suspect. Anyway, the laughter broke the tension nicely, and neatly segued into the next part of my big-sisterly talk about how we (the family in general) all think she’s hilarious, but she usually thinks we’re laughing at her or making fun of her. So, I did my best to dispel this particular anxiety. I explained that I really envy her sense of humor and ability to shoot off at the mouth in ways that I am just incapable of. And trust me, I’m capable of a lot of attitude and sass when called upon, so just imagine it magnified times oh, say 12. And that she tended to take concern as harsh criticism, rather than seeing that the person was just trying to help. I was rather surprised to learn that she’d heard this before, from co-workers and others. Of course, she told me that she was amazed that I saw and understood more things going on with her than she ever gave me credit for. (I was a very self-absorbed teenager, but I’d like to think I was reasonably compassionate!) So, I think that went well, don’t you?

Oh, yeah, and I really hate this 2 week wait thing. Really, really, really, really hate it. Like almost more than onions, Howard Stern, and just about anything besides country music. Almost.

Yes, He is. Is it too much to ask that I not have to work with women who are very happily newly pregnant? And all, well, gushy about it? And who have all these questions that only the former labor nurse (me) can answer? I mean, is that really necessary? I know she thinks I’m like, a great resource or something, but I really don’t want to talk about this. I’ll get all weepy soon if she doesn’t stop, and I simply can’t figure out a polite way to tell her, because she’s really a sweet girl who has every right to be happy. I just can’t deal with her good luck/bad timing. And she even knows about my situation. I’m just politely exiting the conversation for now, and leaving her to gush all over her other friends/coworkers. I don’t know what else to do.

In other news, I think I’m going to have to make a list for my pap visit next month. I want to ask about glucophage, and I need to ask about tapering off the anti-depressant, because it’s making me sooo anorexic (Literally, this word just means not hungry, not starver/puker. I’ll never be that, because I really like to eat, and hate to puke.) that I’m down to one meal a day sometimes. I’m afraid I’m not getting the caloric intake I need, and that maybe that’s affecting my fertility/irregularity. *sighs* I hate feeling like this.

Yeah. A big, fat nothing. My boobs quit hurting today. I peed on 2 sticks last night, which stated that I was still ovulating, and still not pregnant. God’s thumbs! but I wish I knew something one way or the other. I’m really not a patient person. That’s my new favorite swear word. God’s thumbs. I saw it in a book, and found it highly amusing. Anyway, I just want to know what I’m dealing with. I’m going to my pap appointment next month, and I’m going to talk to her about glucophage. Because, I swear, if she tells me to be patient, I’m going to run out crying, and never go back. I’ll find someone else, or just not go. I’m done. I’m tired of doing this. I feel like crap, I hate everyone at work asking me if I’ve lost weight, then asking how I lost it, and the pitying looks I get when I tell the truth. I don’t think it’s ever going to happen.

Yeah, because I do. 2 of them. One’s a 90 lb bulldog, and the other’s a 20 lb pug. We only like smushy noses at our house. It’s actually funny, because when I take them to the vet, they look at dogs with long noses and both tilt their heads to the side with this very quizzical look on their face. You can just tell they’re thinking “What kind of dog are you?” My sister said that when she had to pug-sit, he did the very same thing when he came in contact with her horse. This morning, I went downstairs to let them out, and noticed some sort of gross pussy (get your minds out of the gutter!) abscess on my bulldog’s back! It had sprung a leak and was currently running down his flank and generally making a mess. UUuuuugggh! Anyway, I’m an OR nurse and immediately realized that my skills might be useful, disgusting or not. So, I got him in the tub, scrubbed up, and proceeded to bathe and wishy-wash the wound. I did this until no more pussy, yellow, infected goo was coming out of it, then slathered on the neosporin. I’ll just have to watch it for the next few days and make sure it doesn’t get worse, or he doesn’t start acting sick. I expected him to whimper, or bark or bite me or something, but he didn’t do any of those things. Either he trusts me and knows I’m not going to hurt him, or it didn’t really hurt in the first place. I just know that those things on humans hurt like a _________. (Fill in the blank. Please feel free to let the creativity flow.) If it gets worse, I’ll take him to the vet, but right now, I don’t think they would have done anything differently than what I did, and just charge me $800 for it, or something. Maybe it can be prevented by just bathing him more often. I’d forgotten that bulldogs have “thenthitive thkin.” We haven’t had a problem in so long, it just sortof snuck up on me. *bad nurse! bad, bad nurse!*

So, is it strange that today when sticking my stir pee stick into my pee cup that I picked up some EWCM on the end of it? Gross, I know. But Cool!!! So now we know that I at least do ovulate. Now, if we could just get the YCU home……

In other news, I went to my grandparents yesterday and played with my nephew some more. He’s talking baby talk and cooing at us now. And grinning. But mostly for Aunt Nina. Because Aunt Nina rocks! We’ve bonded. He’s sooo gonna love his aunts. We’re the best. Yep. His dad’s probably gonna be mad at us for being bad influences. The first thing I said when I got there was “Oh my goodness, we’ve gotten fat!” And he has. He’s almost doubled his weight, and poor thing, he looks like my brother. Definitely not the mailman’s kid. Dimples and all. I’ll have to figure out how to put pics on here so I can show you.

Today, I went to church with my husband. His mother begged him all week to go to church with her, as she was getting baptized today. I haven’t been to church regularly since I got married and moved out, and I sure as hell didn’t want to go to one I didn’t believe in. However. I was goaded into going by my husband, who was afraid of the churchpeople. I think he thought they would hog-tie him with duct tape and force him to take communion, or something. He has no idea how to behave with decent people. He gets very uncomfortable in situations where he’s expected to mind his manners. I don’t get it, I guess, cause I was raised to mind my manners at all times, until you get to know people and can relax a bit. Anyway. The sermon was about how homosexuality was wrong, and women who get abortions are bad people, etc. I took issue with how the minister presented the abortion bit. He went on about how 45 million babies have been aborted in this country since 1973, or something like that. I really felt that he needed to clarify his thought processes. I’m sorry, but if Roe v. Wade had never happened, I could potentially be dead right now, from birth complications because I couldn’t have terminated my pregnancy. Was he saying I was supposed to be ready to make that sacrifice, or that he just meant people who abort to cover their irresponsibility? *groans loudly* I get sooooo tired of people talking before they consider all the possibilities. I would never, ever, ever, ever abort a pregnancy just because it occured at an inopportune moment. But what about situations like mine? It just sort of stuck in my craw, so to speak. But, (I think you all would have been proud of me!) in a completely un-Nina-like stroke of tact, I refrained from saying anything to him as we filed out. See?? Wasn’t I good? I just decided not to ever darken the doors again. So there.

On a different note, the MIL is now a convert, so all we heard about at lunch was how she heard from the Lord that she needed to get back to church, how the minister was sooo real, and how there’s so many people of all ages to relate to there, and thank you so much for coming to support her today for her re-dedication. Blah, Blah, Blah. I grew up in church, and it wasn’t nearly as complicated as she was making it out to be. However, in my opinion, there’s only one thing worse than a born again christian, and that’s a converted one. Usually, you can spot these people from a mile away, because they’re the ones wearing the WWJD bracelets, giving half their check each week to church, saying “Praise the Lord!” all the time, for everything, and suddenly re-arranging their whole schedule around church services. And being extremely vocal about all these activities, presumably so everyone around them knows about it and will put in a good word for them with the Big Man? In other words, over-dedicated. I guess this is being blase about church and the relationship with God I’m supposed to have, but I grew up with it. I know the rules, even if I’m not perfect and clearly not the best player on the team. I’m perfectly comfortable talking about church to people, but only in a non-judgmental setting where no one is criticizing or brow beating. I’m an adult, not a child who’s behaved badly. (Well, at least not to my MIL. God likely feels differently.) I suppose this is only going to get worse before it gets better. My dad once tried to scold me into regular attendance. I told him that I’d paid attention growing up, really I had. In fact last Saturday, when the Jehovah’s Witness lady came to the door, I answered it and was able to converse with her. I even asked her a question she had no answer for. I asked her, “Aren’t y’all the people who believe there’s only going to be 144000 people in heaven?” “Yes. And the rest of God’s children are going to reside in Heaven on…” “Wait, wait, wait” I interrupted. “if you all believe there’s only going to be 144000 people in heaven, then why in world are you bothering me at 7:30 on Saturday morning?” True story, I swear. The sweet, little lady had no answer for that, and promptly left. Now, I hope I haven’t offended anyone, but you have to admit, she was begging the question, just a bit. I just asked the obvious.

Several weeks ago, I purchased some ovulation pee sticks from some random Ebayer. These things don’t come with instructions, so I’ve managed to figure it out on my own, thanks to the “Do not eat” silica gel packet, and the “max” line on the stick. “There is no charge for awesomeness.” That’s my new favorite line from the Kung Fu Panda. Anyway, you know how I spotted and bled for like 2 weeks? Yeah. Today I peed on the stick and damned if I’m not ovulating today!! I peed on 2 of them just to make sure! I just quit expelling endometrium like 2 days ago! What the f___!!! Oh well, I got off early from work and indulged in a bit of marital bliss. Hopefully, now that we know I ovulate 2 days after my period goes away, this will result in an occupied womb. Unless, of course, my pee is lying to me, and I’m not really meant to be preggo after all. Ever. AAAARRRRGGGH! Did I mention before that I was impatient and completely obsessive over this whole baby thing? I’m not sure what changed in my life to make me want one so bad, but it just did! I’ve learned entirely too much about fertility, folic acid, neural tube defects, fish, pre-natal vitamins, and fertile anomalies. I’m tired. I’m going to bed, hopefully to dream of baby dust, and would you all please send me some to add to my collection started by Enna? Thanks. Oh, and keep those feet ready to stomp on the ute when she acts up. Bastard thing…Jr.

Today one of the neurosurgeons (who, by the way, is a pissy whiny ass! You can just tell he was one of those kids who sniffled and hid behind his mother’s britches.) was talking about people’s gifts, such as memory, or music, or the ability to sing or write. He started asking everyone what their gift was. He asked each person in the room, and when he got to me, he said “So what’s your gift?” I said “The gift of gab.” The whole room cracked up. I’m just funny like that, I guess. It is said that I can talk the hind legs off a donkey. They’re probably right. Ever since I’ve had vocal cords, pretty much everyone I’ve ever met has told me I talk too loud, too much, too vulgar, too abrasive, etc. Oh well. I read a book at work when the case gets slow, sometimes. Now before you panic, understand that in an OR, once the patient is positioned, and surgery has begun, the nurse is a glorified gopher. You know, “Go pher this, Go pher that.” So, if they don’t need anything, and I’m done charting, it can get very, very, veeerrrrrry boring. When I get bored, my mouth opens. Now, would you, as a patient, want your surgeon distracted by conversation in the room, or would you like him to be able to concentrate? Yeah, uh-huh, I thought so. So, I usually tell the surgeons that I can read a book, or I can tell you aaaallll about my weekend. You pick. (They usually ask me what chapter I’m on at this point. I get to continue reading.) So if anyone needs anything, just holler! I’ll be in the corner, trying to behave myself. (I’ll let you know how it turns out.)